


Another New Year's Eve

by cakeisnotpie



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Magic, Memories, New Year's Eve, New Years, Short & Sweet, getting old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 06:12:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5573839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint never expected to outlive so many of his friends, if this can be called living. But one person from his past still remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another New Year's Eve

**Author's Note:**

> Idea came to me in the shower so I jotted it down quickly before it faded. Mistakes are all mine. Enjoy!

**NOW**

 

His knobby fingers couldn’t close on the railing, joints aching with arthritis and fingers gone numb. Rumy eyes tried to focus on the view, but he could only make out a red yellow ball sinking slowly behind some darker shapes. As he shuffled forward, his cane tapped on the balcony, concrete warm with the summer heat but he was shivering, purple cardigan buttoned up to his neck. 

 

“Mr. Barton? It’s time for your medicine.” She was a pretty young thing, the kind he would have flirted back when his cock was still interested. Now, he could barely get out of bed; getting it up was not even an option. The white paper cup she sat on the table held far too many pills, tiny white ones, a big round pink one, a long brown one, and one big enough to choke a horse. A pill to keep him awake, one to make him sleep, one to lower his blood pressure, and another to control the constant pain. 

 

He didn’t know how he’d come to this; he was never supposed to be the one who survived. That was Steve’s job; super soldier serum enhanced healing should have kept him alive long past Clint’s average life span. But Clint had watched his friend go down in battle against HYDRA. Even god-like Thor was lost to his brother Loki’s machinations. Ultron had ended Natasha; Tony had given way to despair after the Mandarin killed Pepper, gone to a lethal mix of booze and pills. Bruce disappeared into outer space, never to be heard from again. Fury and Maria and Sam and Phil … all gone. So many turned out to be HYDRA -- Jasper and Garrett -- friends who weren’t friends at all. 

 

“We’ve a special dinner for your birthday!” the nurse said. Why did she have to be so damn cheerful about tapioca pudding? What he’d give for a cup of real coffee, not the decaffeinated sugar-free crap they poured in his plastic mug.  

 

“Can’t wait,” Clint said then began to cough as he tried to swallow. Too old, that’s what he was; it was far past his time. 

 

He lost track of time, lost in memories. The sun went down and the lights of his room shone behind him. At least he could afford a place; at times in his life, he’d been certain he’d die penniless and alone. Money was nice, but couldn’t buy him friends who were still alive. Everyone, it seemed, ended up alone.

 

“Clint?” She laid a hand on his shoulder as she came out on the balcony. As beautiful as ever, Wanda Maximoff was still young, the same age as he’d first seen her, red jacketed shoulder covered with her long black curls. She came to him sometimes, to talk, to reminisce, to tell him of the youngsters, how Kate was doing, some gossip to pass the time. “Happy Birthday.” 

 

“I’m still not sure if you’re real or a figment of my imagination.” He saw things sometimes -- the past, the future, the present all mixed together. They gave him pills for that too. 

 

“Does it matter?” She asked. Pulling out a chair, she sat down. “It’s time; I promised I’d be here.”

 

“Thank God. I’m ready. Been ready.” He turned slowly and eased himself into the rocker. It took far too long; he hated being old.

 

Her hands framed his face, smooth skin against his wrinkles. “Look into my eyes, Clint. Think back to the good times, those moments when possibility hung full and ripe, when laughter was easy and friends were many. Remember.”

 

Eyes closed, he sank into her voice, and scenes floated to the surface. The first time Natasha smiled at him. Steve telling him “Let’s go.” A shooting contest with Barnes, pizza night at the Tower, drinking scotch with Tony, training with Maria, Fury recruiting him, Phil’s voice in his ear. Person after person thanking him, Barney holding his hand tight, his mother singing him to sleep. 

He calmed as voices echoed, laughter and shouts and music. The twang of the string, the weight of the arrow, the pull of the bow …

 

**THEN**

 

“Seriously, Barton, are you already that drunk? Come on, man up and take the shot!” 

 

He blinked and looked at the glass in his hand, ice starting to melt on the outside and chilled clear liquid on the inside. Steady fingers wrapped around it, strong and smooth hand resting on the table. Soft cotton of a grey henley hugged his wrist, a plate of small slices of brown bread topped with mustard and ham sitting close by. 

 

“Zoning out there, Clint?” Alan Quartermaine nudged his knee under the table. “Earth to Clint! It’s your turn.” 

 

Decorations hung from the rec room ceiling, Dick Clark’s face on the TV, bundled against the cold in Times Square, counting down the minutes until midnight. Tables were ladened with cookies and brownies and chex mix, people were milling and chatting and sipping at drinks. Jasper sat on his left, brown eyes slightly glazed; Alan on his left, three shot glasses turned upside down in front of him. A bottle of Russian vodka was half-empty between them. 

 

Clint remembered. New Year’s Eve, 2005. Getting shitfaced on vodka with these two jokers (Sitwell’s HYDRA!), the rest of the evening a drunken blur that only resolved itself the next day when he finally got rid of the hangover. By then, the damage had been done. 

 

“I forgot something,” Clint said, tossing back his third shot. “Be back.” 

 

He ignored their sputters and headed down the hall, stopping in the bathroom to relieve his full bladder. Smooth skin, short spiky hair, clear eyes reflected back at him in the mirror. “Thank you, Wanda,” he said. She’d gifted him with a memory that was filled with regret, one that he could set right even if only in a dream. 

 

Pushing open the half-closed door, Clint saw him, sitting at his desk, stacks of paperwork around him, sleeves rolled up and tie loosened. Dark rimmed glasses covered his blue eyes and his fingers were smudged with ink from his pen. Phil Coulson, the man Clint let get away all those years ago because he’d been too damn drunk to say yes when he’d had the chance. Even now he still didn’t remember exactly what had happened this night, just that Phil never again treated him as anything more than a friend. Well, this was Clint’s dream, so he was going to set the record straight. 

 

“Barton? Why aren’t you at the party?” Phil asked, looking up from the remaining few sheets. 

 

“I could ask you the same thing.” Clint circled the desk and took the pen from Phil’s hand. “This can wait. Jasper and Alan broke out some of the good stuff, Nat’s Christmas gifts. Come have a drink with us.”

 

“Just a few more and then I’m done,” Phil argued. Clint took the unfinished pages and stacked them neatly in Phil’s inbox. 

 

“Monday is soon enough. I promise there will be no world ending crises before then.” Clint tugged at Phil’s arms, turning his chair and pulling him up. “Have some fun. Take a chance. It’s new year’s eve. You never know what might happen.” 

 

“You’ve been into the vodka,” Phil said, allowing Clint to lead him from his office. 

 

“Indeed. Three shots so far, but I’m not drunk. I’m saving myself for midnight.” Clint winked at him. “Got to find someone to kiss so I can spend all next year with them.” 

 

A blush stained Phil’s cheeks. “I’m sure there’s someone at the party who will oblige.” 

 

“Yeah, but I don’t want just anyone.” He paused in the hallway and then thought, why not? This was his revision of history. He could be as obvious as he wanted to. “I want you, Phil Coulson.”

 

“Me?” Phil’s eyes widened in surprise then he chuckled. “And here I was working up the courage to ask you out for coffee.” 

 

“Coffee, dinner, a drink, breakfast … we’ll do it all,” Clint promised as they entered the rec room. 

 

“Phil!” Jasper called out. “Now we’ll see who can handle their vodka!” 

 

“Don’t drink too much,” Clint whispered into Phil’s ear. “I want you to remember our first kiss.” 

 

The minutes disappeared as they sat together, Phil catching up to Clint in drinks, letting the others get far ahead of them. And when the seconds counted down to 5, 4, 3, 2, then 1, Clint leaned in, pressed his lips to Phil’s and kissed him with all the pent up years of passion and need he’d never gotten to express. 

 

**NOW**

 

“Clint?” Wanda’s voice was soft, almost lost in the sounds of celebration of that night. 

 

He opened his eyes and she smiled, tiny lines crinkling around her eyes, a wisp of grey hair curling near her ear. Her image was blurry but cleared as Clint wiped tears away. “Thank you,” he said. “That was perfect.” 

 

“You’re welcome.” She stood so gracefully, offering Clint help as he used his cane for leverage. “I can never repay you for all you’ve done for us.” 

 

“Darling?” Vision stepped out onto the balcony. “All is well?” 

 

“Yes. I believe it is,” she said, taking his hand and going to him. 

 

Clint glanced out over the city, shadows looming over the streets below, dark chasms before lights came on to create pools of brightness. Rolling his shoulders to relieve the ache, Clint stood, looking out, his mind still years away, first kiss clinging to his lips. 

 

“What are you doing out here all alone?” Phil asked, coming up beside him. “Everyone’s inside, waiting on you to cut the cake and you know how Tony is when he has to wait.” 

 

“I was thinking about that New Year’s eve.” He didn’t need to tell Phil which one. “Wondering what would have happened if I didn’t go get you and drag you to the party.” 

 

“I doubt much would have changed,” Phil said, ever the rationalist. “What difference could one couple make in the grand scheme of things?” 

 

A cry went up from inside; Clint could see Tony, his arm around Pepper who was a elegant as ever with beautiful silver hair, laughing.  Riding on Bucky’s back was little Ava, their youngest granddaughter, face beaming as she tugged on Bucky’s ponytail. Steve was grinning, barely a line on his face, Natasha tucked up under Bruce’s arm, both of them with only hints of grey in their hair. 

 

“You’re right as always,” Clint said, giving his husband a peck on the cheek. “But life would have been very lonely without you.” 

 

“Thank God we never have to find out.” Phil wound his arm around Clint’s waist and hugged him tight. “Now let’s go try this vegan cake Kate brought. If it’s not good, we’ll feed it to Chance. He’ll eat anything.” 

  
  
  
  



End file.
